Harry Potter and the Final Storm
by AmeliaJane14
Summary: They are all miserable. How could they not be? Hungry, hopeless and now sleepless, due to the thunder and lightning which plagued the forest they were hiding in. Maybe they should just give up. If only Harry could vanish their troubles as easy as he had vanished that glass in the zoo. (I do not own cover image or Harry Potter) Canon pairings, some swearing and romance.
1. Just Their Luck

Thunder and lightning. It was just their luck.

Ron moaned tossing on the bunk under Harry, slamming a pillow over his head.

Harry twitched, tugging on the locket around his neck. It was cold, they were hungry and a miserable hopelessness had begun to sink into their bones. Maybe it was pointless, Harry mused, and maybe they should just go back to the Burrow. Eat some real food, see new faces. And Ginny.

He wanted desperately to pull out the Marauders Map and find her dot in the Gryffindor Common Room. He wanted to find peeves, Mrs. Norris, Neville. He wanted to be with them, the locket settled heavily on his breast bone a cool reminder of the duty he had. It was his duty, not Ron's, not Hermione's and they were doing this because of him. He was a rubbish friend.

A flash lit the tent up, for a moment Harry could convince himself it was the morning of the Quidditch World Cup. Then the thunder.

"That's it," Ron grumbled as he pushed himself from the bunk. He kept the blankets tied around his neck firmly. "I know you're awake Harry," He tugged on Harry's arm.

Harry partly wanted to pretend to sleep, but it was too late when Ron lit his wand and hovered it over his face. "C'mon mate, we have some of that bark tea left," He said, resignation coating his tone.

Harry slipped from his bunk, Mrs. Weasley's last Christmas sweater she had made him dangling from his thinning frame.

Hermione sat on her bunk, blinking at them. She was clad only in her thin jimjams, wand at her side. "I thought I was the only one who couldn't sleep," Her hair proved testament that she had been rolling around for a while.

She put some slippers on and cast a charm on the three of them that left them comfortably warm.

"Blimey Hermione why didn't you do that before?" Ron said tossing his blankets onto the sofa.

"It takes energy, and we don't have much as it is," She said slumping onto the closest chair.

Harry scuttled to the make-do kitchen setting a small fire underneath their kettle and pulling three cups from a cupboard. Ron had tried to make them more personal using some ink to draw on them, a book and flower for Hermione, chess pieces wrapped around his, and a dragon on Harry's.

The bark tea tasted as vile as it had that afternoon. Ron made a face at Harry when Hermione wasn't looking. None of them said anything about it though, tea was tea.

"I don't know if I want to be an auror anymore," Ron said suddenly.

"What?" Hermione set down her tea.

As a rule none of them had talked about their futures, there were too many what-ifs, too many threats. Too many futures where they all felt like Harry just wouldn't be there.

"I was thinking, maybe I'll work with Fred and George, you know? Make some people happy,"

"If saving peoples lives isn't enough happiness for you," Harry said.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Its just so serious mate, we've been saving peoples lives for years. I could use a break,"

"You're right Ron," Hermione pacified.

Harry just fingered the locket out of his sweater and into his hand, rolling it around. The detailed snake, the emerald colouring and silver detail forced the three to admire it as it caught the light, before they felt the ever-present creeping sensation of evil that I carried.

Lighting lit up their waxy faces before another crack rang through the forest.

"Mum always told me to stay away from a forest during a storm," Ron said.

Harry frowned at his tea. Did Ron always have to brag about his family? Was he doing it just to bother Harry?

A wistful smile settled on Ron's face, his tea tipping forwards dangerously. "Percy-," He stopped.

Hermione smiled at him. "No, that's good, let's tell stories," the thunder crackled in agreement.

"Harry can go first," Ron said, still looking a little putout by the mention of his wayward brother.

What could he say? All of his best stories had them in it, and there was nothing about his life with the Dursley's he wanted to share. He supposed there was one story, of hundreds of letters inked in emerald and a gamekeeper on a crumbling rock in the middle of the sea.

"I suppose," He hesitated. "There was this snake-"

Hermione pushed her cup to her chest and leaned back; Ron closed his eyes and discretely slid his tea as far away from him as he could on the table. Harry ran his hands along Slytherin's locket and told them about the vanishing glass. He wished he could make his problems vanish just as quickly.

The thunder sounded like it was laughing at his thoughts.


	2. Better Off

Harry traced his finger along the waving flag that read Ginny Weasley on the Marauder's Map. Maybe it was just a product of his wishful thinking but she seemed to walk past the beach tree that overhung the black lake frequently, or at least more often then she would need to with daily life at Hogwarts. The same tree where they had spent many hot afternoons last spring, watching the squid lazily wave its tentacles towards the sky and, much to Ron's chagrin, snogging.

He sighed, how could everything have gone to hell so quickly? Or maybe his whole life had always been awful and he'd just recently taken the time to notice it. Ron's moaning certainly wasn't helping.

Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley were sitting beside each other in the Gryffindor common room. Harry could almost hear the fireplace crackling, rain pelting at the windows, the pops of Fred and George's latest experiment amid laughter and screams of delight.

The tent was pitched up in Dalby forest, a place where Harry had once been dragged to with the Dursley's. Back then, he had been scraggly, unhealthy, and wearing clothes that were too big. Now he was lean, bordering on unhealthy, and wearing clothes he had once fit in. Quidditch and Hogwarts food had given him some muscle, but a month of living in the tent and stealing from muggle markets, where they could, had worn all three of them down.

Hermione was pouring over a book titled Dark Magic for the Faint Hearted followed by a series of ancient runes that Harry couldn't decipher. He admired her no more than he had since the disastrous wedding. She was always prepared, always trying to be strong. The problem was that she seemed to be crumbling. But Harry wouldn't crumble, not now. Not when Ron and Hermione, Ginny and all the rest needed him so much to be the hero they expected.

If Ron would only stop complaining like the ghoul that used to live in his attic, and now lived in his bed, then maybe Harry might feel a little bit more productive as he read the daily prophet that he had managed to swipe for a careless wizard who was sitting at a muggle café in Chester. Ron was always hungry, or cold, or bored. Harry was far past the point of being irritated with his best mate.

Harry had thought, more than once, about going off on his own. It might be easier, he mused. All he'd need was the locket, his invisibility cloak, which had once belonged to his dad, and his wand. He figured that he could steal the rest. Ron was no help so far in there quest and Hermione had deep bags under her eyes from staying up late and reading. Never before had books failed her for so long.

He was a poison in their friend group; without him then they would be at the burrow. Maybe the two would hide in the attic or in a bunker. They would be happy, well fed with Mrs. Weasley nearby. The twins would be good company, and Ginny would visit during her holidays. They'd have a purpose beyond feeling miserable and trying to solve this impossible puzzle Dumbledore had given them.

Harry had all the pieces, he knew he did, he just needed to figure out how they all fit together.

As his eyes listlessly fell across the prophets propaganda Harry made the decision that would change his story forever. He pictured Hermione in the morning, panicking until she found the note he was planning on writing, Ron looking far too pale and silent. They would be better off without him.


	3. Bloody Bastard

It was so dark in Dalby forest that Harry could barely tell his feet from rocks below him. He needed to get just a little farther. Just beyond the protective circle Hermione had brilliantly conjured around their camp and Harry would be able to apparate away. He didn't know where, but he was thinking Godrics Hallow.

It made sense, he thought, that Dumbledore would leave him some clue where everything had truly started for Harry. And Harry knew that Ron and Hermione would be up in a few hours, notice he was gone. He needed to be far away by that time.

Harry picked at the locket, looking back once more at the tent. A few more steps and it would be out of sight, forever, Harry guessed.

"What're you doing mate?" Ron's groggy voice and stumbling steps met Harry's ears. How could he have missed him, Ron was not subtle on the crunching leaves.

"Nothing Ron," Harry ground out through clenched teeth. He was conflicted on going back to the semblance of warmth they had managed to capture in the tent and on going on through the border. His resolve held.

"You sure? Cause you seem to have packed,"

Harry slipped his wand into his hand. "I'm sorry," he chocked out before sending a stunner at his best mate.

He was doing this to protect him, Harry reasoned. It was the only sure way.

He cast a warming charm on Ron before he left. He wondered when Hermione would wake up and panic, when they'd find his note. Harry wondered if they'd take his advice and go back to the Burrow, they should.

The border rippled Ravenclaw blue as Harry stepped through it and he apparated away. The steepled hamlet of Godrics Hallow surrounded him and Harry, all alone, started to cry. He didn't even notice the glowing memorial to his parents behind him, he didn't even notice the concerned eyes of an old lady who was soon marked for murder.

Bathilda Bagshot watched the boy, she would confront him when he collected himself.

Hermione woke up to Ron's yelling the next morning. The smashing of porcelain was what jolted her from her bunk and into the kitchen area.

"Ronald! What is it?" She hissed, looking around for a disgruntled Harry.

"He's gone Hermione, he got up and left. The bloody bastard!"

"Harry? Ron, where's Harry?"

Ron kicked a chair before slipping down into it. "Yah, he left,"

Hermione grabbed at her wild curls."Oh my God,"

"Stupid, selfless, bastard," Ron mumbled.

"Oh my God," Hermione moaned again.

Hermione looked at Harry's bunk and saw something glinting. Slow cautious steps brought her to it, she took in the blatant disappearance of all of his belongings.

"What?" She picked up a locket, it didn't have the murmur of evil that the horcrux carried.

"Is that-"

"A spell created replica,"

"Open it," Ron said as he came up behind her. Her senses tingled with his closeness.

She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and never let go. Their best friend had just left on a suicide quest, she needed Ron with her more than she felt was healthy.

Ron and Hermione,

You've noticed I'm gone then. This quest was left to me from Dumbledore, not for you two. You should be at the Burrow, safe. Mrs. Weasley agrees with me, even though she doesn't know I'm doing this. I know you're probably angry, but don't worry. I'm sure I'll be fine. I have to end this.

Harry

"He's mad if he thinks he can do this by himself!" Hermione exploded.

"I don't think that any of us have ever really been in our right minds, after all these years," Ron said.


	4. Numbness

Hermione couldn't believe the sheer audacity that Harry James Potter had. Of course she had known he had a serious hero complex, had a selfless streak to boot and was the absolute worst at communication, but she had never thought that he'd be as daft as to leave without her and Ron.

And that note, which Hermione viciously wanted to burn but didn't, what if that was the last thing they ever heard from Harry? Their best friend was an idiot.

Hermione was pouring over her books for the umpteenth time, looking for something she missed, her finger gliding over the index. She would have found the whole thing rather meditative, with Ron silently brooding outside the tent with his ear pressed to his radio, if not for the cold grip of fury that was freezing her lungs.

Idiot, idiot, blasted, Harry James Potter. Oh she was going to slap him when she saw him again.

"Come on, tracking spell," She muttered to the book in desperation.

When _A Witch's Travel Must-Spells_ failed her she threw it onto the couch; by now it had a rather impressive looking pile of equally useless books. She shoved her arm into her bag, right up to her armpit, swivelling her hand around the umbrella, box of Bertie Bots Beans that she was saving for a treat on Christmas, and piles of her school notes, she grabbed the next book. _Painful Maladies and How to Cure Them (or at least try)_ didn't look exactly promising but she flipped to the back anyway.

How had he got leaving them into his mind? She should have seen it coming, what was the use of being observant if she couldn't even notice her best friend's distress?

Dragon Pox, Pygmy Nose, on and on the list of diseases she didn't need to know about went. The book was as pointless to her plight as she knew it would be.

Where would he have gone? She slammed the book shut and grunted as she overhand tossed it as hard as she could at the couch.

Surely not Godric's Hollow, but then again, Harry didn't seem to be thinking straight right now. Of course, that was where he was going to go, how did they not see it before?

"RON!" Hermione stood up and began packing up.

Ron ran into the room the radio in one hand, wand in the other as he looked around wildly. Hermione was frantic, throwing everything she could reach into someplace they wouldn't get damaged when they packed the tent up.

She stopped for a moment, panting with a combination of being out of breath and elation. "I know where he is,"

That's all she had to say before Ron too was frenzied into a speed-packing state.

HARRY'S POV(ish… it _is_ in third person lol)

Harry thought that Godric's Hollow was beautiful. With its thatched roofs, narrow allies, and trees turning a crisp golden. His first excursion brought him to the gate of a church yard. It smelt like mud and the leaves dripped with the remnants of the last rainfall.

He slowing opened the gate and slipped through the maze headstones, he analyzed each he passed with sharp, bright green eyes. Harry saw them, he couldn't feel anything anymore, no because it was cold but at seeing their grave it made everything real.

That this truly wasn't a long horrible nightmare. Numbness greeted him.

It was just Harry, the wind and this piece of polished marble. He fell to his knees; they sunk into the mud, a fraction of a centimetre closer to his parents. It was weird that this was the closest he had ever truly been to his parents in sixteen years, but he'd never felt father away.

Harry stared blankly at his parent's name, but he couldn't find it in him to cry. He'd been crying too much that night.

Bathilda Bagshot watched the boy. She sighed sadly, the poor thing. Perhaps a cup of tea would do him good, maybe she could help him. Dumbledore had given her some things to give this Harry Potter, and Bathilda was a woman of her word, no matter how old she got or how much that Rita Skeeter used Veritiseum on her.


End file.
